


A Force To Be Reckoned With

by Daryl_Alenko



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), And All Of The Spoiling, And Two Uncles, Baby Yoda Just Wants Two Dads, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I DARE YOU To Resist That Cute, Love In a Galaxy Far Far Away, M/M, ManDadlorian, Newbies Ain't What They Seem, Not Always Angry Paz, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Strong Message of Found Family, Terribles Pasts Are Terrible, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27119780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: While searching for his Son's people, Din finds himself taking on a new job that further complicates his life. Only, it's not a Foundling he finds this time.While searching for remnants of his Covert, Paz stumbles across a man that saves his life. On the way to clearing this debt, he finds his life changing dramatically.(Story will be much better than the summary, promise!)
Relationships: Paz Vizsla/Original Male Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> So! This first chapter isn't actually part of the story, it's a collection of edits I did for my work, to sort of tease and intrigue the readers!
> 
> As with most of my stories at this point, it will require long term reading, more than likely. I have a bum shoulder that makes typing hard, so I am slow to update. However, most people seem to be happy with my work, and don't mind waiting, so I hope others will give it a chance!

So, Reckon is going to be a slow burn love story in a Galaxy Far Far Away. It will begin as two stories taking place at the same time, with two different male/male relationships unfolding. Until, ultimately, their paths cross and the story becomes about both pairings. 

This story will also be heavily influenced by the same theme as the show; found family. We cannot choose the family we are born into, but we CAN choose those we trust. 

I will also be exploring some new characters with brand new backgrounds based in the Star Wars mythos. I'll warn you now, neither of them had stellar backgrounds, because Star Wars wouldn't exist if everyone had a good childhood and the bad guys never tried to win. But hopefully, their backgrounds will be explored in interesting, intriguing ways. 

One of my biggest requests here .... please, please, _**PLEASE**_ do not read and flame me if you don't like homosexual pairings, or if you have a problem with my version of Star Wars characters. I have, in no way, read all the source material or watched the animated series, so some of this is knowledge mixed with what I like about the Star Wars Universe. 

Now! For the FUN PART!! The teaser edits I created for this fic!

So. Our first image is for the first title card of the series, featuring Din Djarin/The Mandalorian, Baby Yoda, and our first original character, with little fanfare toward revealing his identity beyond the fact that he's robed, has pale pink skin, and red markings around his eyes. I also played with a bit of a fire and ice background, with the Child breaching both. 

Now, we have our alternate title card for Paz and our second original character. I went with a metal grunge background because both are in armor in this shot. I overlayed a colorful smoke to add an almost surreal quality to the background, and yes, that is Mando'a. For now, I haven't tried to translate it, because the message is actually meant for all four main characters, despite showing up on the second title card.

Now, I ain't gonna lie. This is my all time -favorite- edit for the fic, so far. It's actually one of my favorite edits I've done in a while. I had to change the color of his skin and deepen the color around his eyes. As well as having to add the mask over his mouth, which is a part of the story. He is a mixed breed, though I won't tell you which two races. I love the fire and ice play here, too, with the deep red flames and the deep blue fabric that is standing up to the flames. There's a reason for this dichotomy showing up in both the title card, and in his stand alone. And them EYES, yo! I just love how piercing and compelling they are. 

-sighs- Okay, so where I have to have a favorite, I also have to have a least favorite. And that would be this one. It's not much, because I didn't really want to give too much away about how he actually looks, because I have the -perfect- pic set aside to edit for when he and Paz meet for the first time. But, I needed some kind of teaser pic, so here it is. I am happy with all of my work, it's just not favorite. Because Shaar'Tal is just mesmerizing. Hehe.

Anyway, thus ends the introduction to my upcoming story. I've already started on the first chapter and will post it as soon as I am finished with it. The posting will be slow, unfortunately, but I really hope that it will be worth it. 

Thanks!


	2. A Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The actual first chapter! Some cute Father/Son bonding followed by the beginning of plot. Enjoy!

* * *

Three months into the search for his Foundling's people, and the Mandalorian has found no relevant information. This would usually inspire anger and frustration ... but not this time. Because it's three months of bonding with his _ad_. (Son) 

His. Son. Those two words have been a truth stronger than carbonite for longer than he understood. Definitely true long before his _Alor_ (leader) named them an _aliit_ (clan/family) of two. Though, that -was- the moment that cemented the truth and made it ... real. The feeling of cradling his child close as he jetted them to safety had a profound impact on him. It was the moment his life came full circle. He was able to save someone as the Mandalorians once saved him. 

He is not the type to find failure acceptable, but just this once, he can handle it. Because, again, bonding with his _ad_ (son.

Like now.

He's sitting awkwardly on the cockpit floor, gloved hands extended, silver orb the child loves so much cupped therein. The child coos sweetly before raising both hands to try and summon it. Unfortunately, he uses a little too much of his magic. Rather than float lazily toward him as it usually would, it speeds straight toward his face. Thankfully, the Mandalorian is quick. He manages to pluck the orb from the air before it can pop the poor child in the forehead. His sweet _ad_ (son) squeaks, nearly falling from his seat in shock. Of course, his _buir_ (father) is there to steady him with a gentle, loving hand. 

"Easy there, Womp Rat." He cautions with a hidden smile in his voice before he reaches out and places the silver orb in his son's outstretched hand. The resultant coo of happiness is enough to warm the Mandalorian through and through. 

He has always thought that, eventually, he would find a way to have a family. After having his taken away ... murdered ..... he had yearned for his own. But he had not actually thought it would ever happen. Not really. He had assumed that he would spend his days bounty hunting, giving the Covert money to sponsor Foundlings until some lucky prick managed to take him out. But now, here he is ... grinning behind his helmet as his son gnaws on the silver orb. 

"I --" The sudden, jarring beep of a warning on the console causes them both to jump in surprise. Not that the Mandalorian would -ever- admit to doing so. With practiced ease, he gets up, off the floor and slides into his seat, scanning the console panel until he sees a fuel warning light. It's the early indicator, giving them the chance to start mapping the closest place to refuel. "Looks like we'll be going planetside." The child gurgles in response, the sound muffled by the silver orb it's still gnawing on.

* * *

The planet is nothing special. A mix of tropical jungles and open fields with three starports. Some parts of the planet have industrial cities, others backwater villages. Though he would prefer one of the villages, less likely to bring the wrong kind of attention, he knows that he has to park in an industrial area. 

While these past three months have been great bonding with the child, there has been a downside to it as well. It has awoken a new set of nerves that he has never felt before. This deep, dark fear in the back of his mind that causes him to worry in a way that is so foreign to him. Every time they have to leave the Razor Crest, he experiences a sliver of fear for his son. He has always lived with a certain sense of .. caution. All Mandalorians that go outside the Covert do. But this is a deeper, darker sense of caution that has him more on edge than he can afford to be. The kind of caution that has his eyes drawn constantly to the child's hovering pram as they exit the ship and head toward the refueling station. He's thankful that his helmet keeps his eyes hidden.

It took nearly half an hour for him to track down an attendant, and even then, the news was .. not good. Fuel on this planet is particularly pricey, and once again, he found himself coming up short. It's not easy living such a Spartan life now that he has a child to think about. But, the sympathetic attendant had been kind enough to point him in the direction of a shop where he could find work.

* * *

He squints at the handwritten sign above the rickety door, hand hovering above his blaster without realizing it. Another one of those new instincts brought on by fatherhood. 

"Well .. let's get this over with, kid." He glances to the side, making sure the pram is closed up and the child protected. But it still takes him almost three minutes to finally step inside the shop.

A man is standing behind a counter. His pale red skin, yellow eyes and human features cause the Mandalorian to draw up short. It takes a moment for him to place the species; Alder-Espirion. He vaguely remembers something about them, but it's not his concern at the moment.

"Hello, sir. I assume you're here about the posting, not about my products?" The Mandalorian spares the shop a glance, the scents of spiced meats and heavy sweets filtering through his helmet before he turns back toward the shop owner. 

"A woman at the spaceport told me you were looking to hire. What's the job?" Some part of him quietly berates himself for appearing so ... eager, despite his tone being even and mostly disinterested. However, he -is- eager to get this over with and get the hell off this planet. There's an odd swooping sensation in his gut and it is beginning to drive him right to the edge. He does manage to glance at the pram without moving his head, without telegraphing the move at all thanks to the helmet. 

"Yes, yes, I am looking to hire, sir." The man motions toward a stool in front of the counter. The Mandalorian glances over, but makes no move to occupy it. Some form of disquiet flickers across the alien's features, but disappears instantly. "Right then. Straight to business. Yes." The alien turns behind the counter and pulls out a stack of papers. The Mandalorian walks past the pram to lean against the counter, tense and ready to spring into action if things go wrong. 

The stacks of paper are hand drawn portraits. A creature in dark, hooded robes with piercing aqua eyes, red marks around them. A face covering that instantly makes the Mandalorian feel even more uncomfortable. Everything about this job makes him feel .... off. They could leave this planet and try for the next, but could he really take the unknown risk? He knows the basic risks of this planet, this job, this way ... 

"This is my son. He is currently mixed up with some .. unsavory people. He left with them thinking they were his friends, but in truth, they have been extorting me. If I stop paying, they will kill him and dump him in the jungle somewhere." Those new instincts flare dangerously. He can feel his face heat with the rush of adrenaline and anger. The thought of someone taking his _ad_ (son) and then extorting him over it .. he would not hesitate to kill them. The added thought of how frustrating it must be to send someone out to do the job when unable yourself .. he pities the man, though he will not speak it. 

"Please. Can you find him and bring him back to me?" The Mandalorian reaches out for one of the drawings, lifting it close to his helmet to study the details. It would've been simple enough to enhance the arrays of his helmet, but for some reason .. he wants a more personal view off it. That desire throws him even further off, causing him to lick his lips beneath the helmet before he folds the sketch and shoves it into his belt. "There is one thing I must insist on." The Mandalorian looks from the door, back toward the man. "As you can see, my son wears a mask. Though it looks flimsy, it is not. He needs it for medical reasons. Please, do not remove it." 

"Payment?" 

"I assume, since you were sent here by a port attendant, you are probably in need of fuel money. I will have your ship fueled, and there will be some credits besides." The Mandalorian considers it for a moment, but his next breath brings the collection of spices into his filters.

"And a few supplies. Whatever you have that smells so spicy. Some raw stuff, too." This time, he doesn't manage to hide his head turning in the direction of the pram. Given the sort of companionable snort the man gives, he assumes the alien thinks the object contains a pet. It irks him every time that assumption is made. But he is also not so foolish as not to realize that it works to his advantage. No one is going to ask unwanted questions about a possible pet.

"I have many delicious spiced things. I will put together a pack. So, you are taking the job?"

"I'm taking the job." 

"Good, good! This is where they demand I drop off the payments. They shouldn't be too far."

* * *

Exiting the shop makes the Mandalorian feel ... lighter, somehow. As if he can breathe easier, which is ridiculous, because his scrubbers are working just the same out on the street as they had in the shop. He shakes his head minutely, silently grouses at himself for being foolish, and sets off in search of the son. 

He reaches to his vambrace and opens the pram, smiling behind his helmet when the child gurgles happily at him even as it raises a three fingered hand to wave. He fights the instinct to wave back, instead reaching down to run his glove covered fingers over the peach fuzz on top of the child's head. 

"Sorry for that." He hadn't expected to wait so long once he had the information, so he hadn't expected to keep the poor kid cooped up. Part of him knows that the child would be safer on the Razor, but at the same time, if the job took too long ... well, he couldn't just abandon him like that. "Lets go hunt down a kid." He chuckles softly, the sound only loud enough for the two of them to hear, his mind racing with memories of plowing through an entire compound to find the kid. He hopes, of course, that this won't be so drastic.

* * *

It takes less than half a day of walking to reach the drop point, and the Mandalorian doesn't like that. This little slice of civilization had been well traveled. Plenty of different types moving along the small city from the spaceport and back again. So then, why hadn't the man been able to find someone to take this job yet? There had been enough time for him to hand draw that large stack of portraits. So what gives??

"Calm down, Womp Rat." He sighs the words even as they come to a stop in a small clearing. Not -the- clearing, but close enough he can keep an eye out, but not so close they need to remain silent. The child may not talk yet, but it makes a lot of little noises. The Mandalorian is filled with paternal pride over the fact that he has come to interpret most of his noises so well. "Here." He carefully lifts the child from the pram and sets him on the ground, watching intently as he carefully walks to a fallen log and begins to poke around it. After a few minutes of poking, the child makes a woeful little noise, and the Mandalorian curses in Mando'a. "Sorry." 

He quickly moves to settle on the ground leaning back against the log as he places his bag beside him. He fishes out a container, nose wrinkling under his helmet as he pulls out a small bantha steak. He barely has time to present it to his son before the child has clamped it's teeth on the end and begun to swallow it whole.

"Hey ... hey! Chew, kid ... chew!" Mando growls the words, shooting the kid a glare it can't actually see as it continues to try and swallow the raw steak right out of his hand. "Chew. Use your teeth and chew .. gnaw it like you do your toy .... there." Only after the kid gives a quizzical chirp around the mouthful and begins to almost delicately nibble at it the way he does the silver orb, does Mando release the steak.

He then sighs heavily, as all parents do, when the kid proceeds to swallow it all in one drooling gulp.

"Seriously?!" Mando snatches the bag before his son can go after a second steak. "No. Not happening. I'll give you another later." He closes the bag and sets it to the side before picking his son up and carefully tucking him against his armored chest. "Try to sleep, kid. It might be a long night."

* * *

(Some descriptions in this bit might be a bit odd, but that's because this bit is in Baby Yoda's perspective, so he doesn't fully understand things.)

As further proof of just how -off- this planet has him feeling, the Mandalorian fails to awaken when his son does. Doesn't even awaken when his son squirms out of his arms and makes a b-line for the bag of goodies. 

The Foundling carefully lifts the side of the flap of the bag without having to unclasp it. After a moment of determined staring, he decides to dive right in. His excited chirp is muffled by the yards of material surrounding him, eyes closed against the darkness as his little hands root around. After almost two minutes, his left hand closes loosely on a thick, crinkly thing and he carefully draws it up to his nose. The contents make him sneeze, but it also makes his mouth water. 

So, he kicks and wriggles his little legs over the lip of the bag until he can back up and his feet touch the ground. Carefully, almost reverently, he holds his prize to his little chest as he walks around the bag and plops to the ground. His nose wrinkles at the pungent, savory odor, causing him to sneeze a second time before he raises the object to his mouth. The first thing to meet teeth is .. odd. It's not squishy like the jumpy things he likes to eat. It's almost as thin as the _haashun_ (parchment bread) his _buir_ (Father) gives him to snack on, but tastes different. Oddly flavorless. But he can smell what he truly wants just beyond the stuff, so he continues to tear through it. 

He spits the outer stuff out, cooing happily when the scent of cooked meat becomes almost overwhelming. He prefers his food raw, but he has been taught to eat cooked as well. He angles his prize until he can shove the exposed part between his teeth and rip a chunk off. At first, all he tastes is cooked flesh ... then a hint of something he cannot identify. Just as he swallows, however, the spice appears. His claws dig deep into the prize, puncturing it and causing bits of it to fall off into his lap. Where he would usually rush to scoop it up and finish it off, he completely ignores it this time. 

Because he feels as if he has swallowed one of the bright, glowing bits of light that his protector uses to see at night. And to cook with. (Fire embers) His mouth alights with a burning pain, and he actually throws the prize as far as his little arms will allow. He blinks heavily as tears fill his eyes, hands waving desperately in the air before him as he tries to understand what's going on. How this food has managed to -attack- him from -within-. 

As the tears continue to build, as his poor mouth continues to burn, the baby does the only thing he can think of; he tilts his head back and wails in pain and confusion. 

His _buir_ (Father) bolts upright, weapon in hand as it always seems to be. Prepared to protect him. The Foundling had known from the first moment they met, that this creature would protect him. Love him. He knows that he would not be alive if not for him.

"What?!" The man looks around quickly, no doubt in search of whatever has caused the Foundling to cry out. When no visible enemy is spied, he stows his weapon and scrambles over to his son. The Foundling lifts his shaking hands, both sets of three fingers tearing at the air as it continues to wail in pain. The man immediately picks him up and cradles him to his chest. Despite the pain, the Foundling feels safe and at home when cradled like this. It's his favorite place, his safe place. He likes the moving sleeper, but he prefers the arms of his Father. "What is it? What happened? Did you -- oh."

The man has breathed deeply and seems to understand what has happened, even if the Foundling doesn't. He glances from the fallen pieces of the prize and then back. 

"It's _heturam_. Mouthburn. It's too much for an _ad'ika_ ... for a little one. Here. Here." His Father quickly pulls out water and he is far too happy to swallow down several mouthfuls. Once the burning begins to subside, he whimpers pathetically at the lingering memory of pain before he leans up to press his little forehead against his Father's head.

"It's alright. It'll pass soon, I promise." The Foundling would apologize if he knew how. So he settles for curling as close into his Father's arms as he can. Tucking himself against the one promised to protect him. "This is why you shouldn't go through things that aren't yours." The tone is different .. cautioning, lecturing .... he knows that he had done wrong. He chuffs softly in agreement, his little eyes drooping now that the adrenaline of the pain has passed. "Sleep, _ad_ (son)."

* * *

The poor Mandalorian is beginning to ache. Nothing big. Nothing outlandish. Just a dull ache. For the past three hours, he's been sitting against the log, holding his child in his arms. He knows that he could've placed him in his pram to avoid the pain of this position, but ... no. Just no. After waking up to his boy wailing like that ... it had scared him half senseless. He knows that no one should know they are here, but he awoke afraid that somehow, they had been found. That someone was hurting his little one. 

He glances down, still feeling sympathetic that the child had managed to hurt himself with the spicy food. And yet, mostly relieved, too. True, he hadn't been able to hurt anyone for hurting his boy, but it also meant that no one had actually hurt him. With infinite care, he moves the child so that he can get a little more comfortable. 

For what feels like the hundredth time, he finds himself turning on his heat arrays, scanning the distance. Unlike the other times, he sees three heat signatures appear in the direction of the drop point. He immediately stiffens, the action causing his little one to stir. He immediately tucks him close for a moment before carefully laying him in his pram.

"Time to be still, _ad'ika_ (little one). Keep this closed, okay? Things are probably going to get loud." He uses his vambrace to close the pram before laying his hand on it. It takes longer than it should to steel himself and begin to make his way toward the clearing.

There's a small fire burning, several logs fallen in similar ways to the clearing they just vacated. The first thing to draw his attention is a bundle furthest from the fire. It looks like a large pile of burlap or some such rough fabric. Though his natural inclination is to ignore it, he finds himself discarding that reaction. On a whim, he carefully calls up his heat arrays and scowls beneath the helmet when he realizes that it's giving off a sluggish heat signature. 

Kad Ha'rangir! (The Destroyer) Given the size of the pile of material, the heat signature should be much greater. What is under that thing?? He forces himself to remain silent, one hand reaching out to touch the pram without realizing it. He begins to scan the rest of the clearing, seeing the two individuals that are settled around the fire once he turns the heat arrays off. 

A human male, roughly 30, is sitting cross legged, blaster held against his knee as he stares into the fire. He's lightly armored, though given how torn up and poorly maintained it is .. he may as well be wearing nothing. Across from him, a female Elomin with red-orange skin is squatting. Her hard features are set in a scowl, the firelight glittering across the crown of horns that rim her head. She's dressed in slightly better maintained armor, though it's still insufficient to hold up against his weaponry. 

His hand begins to try and furl into a fist, but he feels the solid mass of the pram, and the low simmer of his anger instantly boils over. He jumps to his feet, blaster trained on each of them. 

"Where's the boy?" He speaks in his usual even, powerful tones, though it's taking everything in him not to growl the demand. The human grunts, the Elomin staring him down for a moment before speaking.

"Took the old man long enough. Honestly, figured he would have hired someone else sooner." Someone else? So, there -had- been others for the job? There's no sign of struggles or blaster fire in the clearing. Had they been disposed of elsewhere? Had they never made it this far? Too many questions, not enough answers. Though he knows he's not supposed to ask questions ... that is, after all, what got him into the situation with the Foundling in the first place. That might be why he's questioning himself so much now. Doing so the first time had been the right thing to do. "Whatever he's paying you .. it's chump change compared to what we're getting from him."

"My companion is right, Mando. We are making a small fortune here. And we would like to keep doing that. We'll pay more than he offered if you walk away." The fury that the Mandalorian feels at this is deep. Righteous. The thought of some greedy bastard offering money to walk away and leave a kidnapped boy in their possession, so they can keep squeezing the Father for ransom? He sees red moments before he pulls both triggers. The only mercy he shows them is an instant death. With almost shaking hands, he holsters the blasters and moves toward the pile of clothing.

Some part of him is actually -afraid- to reach out toward the material. Afraid to find that he is too late. That the boy will be too far gone to rescue. He fights flashbacks of his parents running for their lives. Of them placing him in the little shelter to try and save his life. 

"Please be okay, kid." He mumbles the words even as he carefully begins to work his hands through the material. Rearranging it until he sees a mess of curly dirty orange hair piled about a hood. The moment the hood is pulled back, the creature hidden in the material turns toward him. 

His first thought? Not so much a kid or boy, but a full grown man. His second thought? The groggy, unfocused eyes looking at him are the most stunning shade of aqua he has ever seen. His third thought? He is so screwed .....


End file.
